


Peaceful Reflection

by likethenight



Series: Silent Affinity [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethenight/pseuds/likethenight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Settled in her new life in Ithilien, Éowyn thinks of the friend she made at Helm's Deep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peaceful Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in the same 'verse as the [_A Little Piece of the Sea_](http://archiveofourown.org/series/39969) series.

The White Lady of Ithilien sat on her balcony, curled as comfortably as she was able into a large cushioned chair. The fingers of one hand were spread across her belly as the child within her conducted a conversation with his mother by means of little kicks and jolts, punctuated every now and then by brief periods of stillness. She was rather more than six months along, by her estimation, and her ladies were beginning to insist that she take a less active role in the building of their new domain. So here she was, luxuriating in the late afternoon sun and the most peaceful moment she had known in a long time. So much had happened. Faramir...she smiled. The loss of Aragorn - not that he had ever been hers - had yet brought her true happiness, in the form of her wise, gentle husband, whom she loved with all her heart. She could never have loved Aragorn so, she knew that now.

In the light of Faramir's unquestioning love, she had changed almost beyond recognition from the despairing, desperate woman who had ridden into battle in disguise and ended up facing down the Captain of the Nazgúl. Under his patient guidance she had found within herself a love of learning she had never possessed as a child. She had been far too interested in horses and swordplay then; her tutors had never had much success with her. Théoden had indulged her, seeing in her the image of his beloved, headstrong sister, and so she had managed to get away with the bare minimum of study. Yet now she found herself enthralled by the tales of times past, the descriptions of other lands and valiant heroes. Perhaps it was the bewildering sense that she herself had played a part in the legends of future generations. It frightened her to think of it, but somehow reading the stories comforted her, reminded her that really she was still just a shieldmaiden who did her duty by her country.

Aragorn had allowed her free rein over his library, and she and Faramir were beginning a collection of their own. Faramir was teaching her how to read the flowing, beautiful language of the Elves, though it was slow going. Although she had learnt Westron as a child along with her native Rohirric, now that she was grown up she found languages much more difficult to grasp. Yet something in her pushed her to continue her studies, to learn about and understand the ancient people who were now leaving these shores for ever. Perhaps it had been her brief encounter with the Elven soldier at Helm's Deep that had awoken this desire to know more about the Firstborn. Somehow he had been able to soothe her grief, and she sensed that she had done the same for him, although they had not been able to speak a word to each other.

She had not thought of her Elven friend for years. Events had overtaken her, and for a long time she had been consumed with grief for her uncle and for herself, and with the horror of the battle of Pelennor Field. Her convalescence from the injury she had sustained had been long and difficult, the wounds to her mind and spirit persisting long after her bodily hurts faded away. Faramir had been unfailingly kind and understanding, for he had suffered similar wounds, made much worse by his father's mistreatment of him. Éowyn marvelled that he had become such a kind, gentle man, when she heard of the abuse he had suffered every day of his life. Faramir himself spoke little of it, but Éowyn was wise enough to piece together the truth from the half-finished sentences and melancholy silences that still persisted, and it made her love him all the more.

It was only now, in this first, enforced moment of peace and contemplation, that the memory returned to her of the quiet, sad Elf and the night they had spent upon the shattered Deeping Wall. He had seemed to radiate sadness; it had shimmered around him like the uncanny light that illuminated the skin of all the Elves she had met. Her experience of the Firstborn was still not broad, but all those she had met had seemed to carry this sense of ancient melancholy inside them. Even Arwen, who was mortal now and had her heart's desire, was often sorrowful; the Queen of Gondor had confided in Éowyn once that she missed her father and brothers almost more than anything, although her brothers still remained in Middle-Earth as lords of Rivendell now that Elrond had passed West over the Sea. They visited sometimes, identical warriors with their sister's breathtaking beauty, but Éowyn knew that mere visits would never be enough for the Queen; for they were all that was left to Arwen of her family, and she missed them terribly when they were gone.

And then there was Legolas. Aragorn's old friend was building a colony for himself and his people in the woods of Ithilien, not far from Faramir and Éowyn, and he visited often. Éowyn had come to count him among her closest friends and she respected him greatly. He spoke with her of his home in the Greenwood, helped to teach her his language, and brought the history books to life with his tales. He rarely spoke of the Sea-longing that afflicted his people, but she knew he suffered from it; his frequent visits to Dol Amroth and Faramir's uncle Imrahil seemed to assuage it, but Éowyn was too polite to ask. 

Legolas had told her, in that tense time of waiting between the battle of Helm's Deep and the summons to Gondor, that her comforter's name was Rùmil, and that he was the younger brother of the Elven Captain, Haldir, who had been so gravely injured in the battle. She had not seen him again, after their awkward yet friendly parting in that cold March dawn; the Elves had left as soon as their wounded were fit to travel, bearing them back to Lothlorien to heal.

She wondered now what had become of Rùmil. Legolas had told her that Lothlorien and Greenwood had been attacked by the dark forces of Dol Guldur, but that they had been saved by the valiant efforts of their people, and of course the destruction of Sauron by the two brave Hobbits, Frodo and Sam. Éowyn had heard that most of the Elves of Lothlórien had sailed West with their Lady, not all that long ago, although their Lord Celeborn had remained behind, it seemed, going to live in Rivendell with his grandsons. She wondered whether Rùmil had left with his Lady or remained behind with his Lord. Perhaps she would ask Legolas.

Or perhaps not. She did not wish to ruin the magic of their fleeting friendship with questions and knowledge. It was enough for her to know that he was out there somewhere under the same sky, and to hope that he was happy. She murmured a quiet blessing for him, a wish that he would find peace and happiness as she had done, and smiled.

The baby kicked again, and she rubbed her stomach. It was a boy, she was sure of that. She supposed she should be thinking of names. She thought back to her last conversation with Arwen, when the Queen had confided that her first son would be named 'Eldarion' - 'son of the Elves' in the Sindarin tongue. They had fallen to discussing names in general, and Arwen had translated the names of many of her friends and family for Éowyn. Elladan - 'Elf-Man' - and Elrohir - 'Elf-horsemaster'; Éowyn had liked that one, containing as it did the name of her people. Elrohir had nearly been named after Elbereth, the Queen of the Stars, Arwen had said, laughing; that story had been good for many years of teasing when she was young. And Elladan had almost been Elboron - 'steadfast Elf-Man' - but her mother Celebrian had preferred Elladan and her father had bowed to her wishes.

Éowyn liked 'Elboron', and its meaning touched her heart. Her son would indeed be steadfast, trusty and true as a Prince should be. And a little tribute to the Elves who had come to mean so much to her and her husband felt right and fitting. It would be a small gesture of thanks to her absent friend.


End file.
